Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
My voice echoes in the hangar, curses bouncing off corrugated metal walls. My throat feels raw from the rough expletives, but that hardly matters. I zero in on a row of seedy plates stacked near the far corner, riddled with spiderweb cracks. The microfractures practically beam under the glow of a cheap overhead lamp, and I slam a fist on a nearby crate in frustration.
“Four days of scraping these from that junkyard, and they’re all trash,” I mutter.
Tabitha’s sarcastic voice comes through the near-invisible earpiece tethered to my visor. “You sure you don’t want me to double-check, David? Maybe you need a microscope or…I don’t know, a magic wand?”
I grunt, forcing myself to stand straighter even though my back is stiff from too many late-night labor sessions. “I’d love a magic wand,” I tell her through clenched teeth. “Could wave it at the damn microfractures and make them vanish. Maybe at those missing circuits, too.”
Tabitha hums in sarcasm. “Or wave it at that junkyard hustler you bought them from. I can calculate precisely how to turn his entire inventory into confetti if you’d like.”
My lips twitch. “You’ve definitely got a dark side lately, Tabi.”
“I’m protective,” she corrects. “I can’t stand by while you waste time and money on worthless crap. You need serious plating if you’re going to keep building Raven One, not these zero-quality castoffs.”
I brush a hand through my sweat-tangled hair and mutter agreement. We can’t keep hemorrhaging money. We’re not drowning yet, but we’re treading dangerously close. I notice my reflection on a scratched plating segment. The dark circles shading my eyes are a testament to subpar sleep and my endless worry about proving a smaller mech can dominate in a battlefield of towering steel giants.
I cross the hangar to a scraped-together workstation, rummaging around until I find some half-charged scanning equipment. In a last-ditch effort, I scan the plating nearest me, but the display blinks with an angry red symbol echoing what I already know. Microfractures. Enough to make these pieces worthless unless I want to risk a catastrophic break under the torque of intensive maneuvers.
“Fantastic.” I sigh, tossing the scanner aside. “All right, Tabi. Guess we need a real fix. Let’s chase down Patch. Maybe he’s got exoskeletal joints that aren’t in worse shape than these.”
“Ooh, the great Quinn ‘Patch’ Reyes. Another saint of suspicious salvage. Be still, my circuits.”
I roll my eyes. “Look, we’re out of options.” My gut churns merely thinking about the conversation I’m about to have. Patch isn’t the easiest guy to haggle with under the best circumstances, and I’m guessing I’ll need every shred of charm to keep this from draining the last of the inheritance from my father. But if I can’t salvage better plating or a thruster coil that actually works, Raven One is never seeing real combat.
A quick check of my utility belt confirms I’ve only got a handful of contract chips left, plus a trickle of normal credits. “We’ll see if Patch is in a generous mood.”
Tabitha snorts. “Better not hold your breath.” She pauses. “You gonna be okay, David? You sound more wound-up than usual.”
I release a shaky breath, adjusting the visor perched on my forehead. “I’ll manage.” My gaze drifts to my reflection again. Skinny arms, baggy T-shirt, messy hair. I still look like a kid who’s punching above his weight. My chest tightens at the memory of Staff Sergeant Korr’s sneer, but determination flares again. I might not have biceps of steel, but I’ve got engineering brilliance and a damn fine AI. Screw them all.
I head for the exit, stepping around the scattered debris of our current failures, and I drop a final glance at the mech’s half-wired torso. “Try not to collapse while I’m gone,” I murmur.
“Between your fixes and my moral support, she’ll hold like a dream,” Tabitha retorts. “Now, go on, scrawny arms. Time to grovel for better parts.”
I prod the digital lock by the hangar door, then step outside. Valis’ industrial haze slaps me, a pungent mix of coolant and burning slag. Grayish-orange clouds swirl overhead, half-obscuring an anemic sun. Mornings on Valis smell like desperation, I think, steeling my jaw. If my father could see me now, living in this gritty corner of the universe, he might be half-proud, half-appalled.
My legs are wobbly with fatigue, but I force them onward. The route through the salvage yard toward Patch’s office is a network of worn paths and stacks of metal scrap higher than I am tall.
Soon, I arrive at the ragged chain-link fence with a half-broken gate that marks the entrance to the yard. As I’m looking around, a gruff voice comes from the left.
“Ah, my favorite scrawny pilot.” Patch emerges from behind a toppled cargo container, wiping sweat off his brow with an oil-stained rag. He’s wearing a heavily patched jumpsuit that’s seen better decades, and his smirk thrums with curiosity. “You’re early, kid. What, the junk I gave you last time not up to snuff?”
I force a tight smile. “Morning, Patch. About that. Turns out I need something superior. The plating from the junkyard’s basically shattered. Microfractures everywhere, and I’m missing half the circuits I need.”
“Well, well.” Patch shakes his head. “Hate to say I told you so. Don’t trust random yard owners unless you know exactly who’s screwing who.”
Tabitha’s voice buzzes in my ear. “He should have told us sooner that his yard is the only yard worth trusting.”
I stifle a laugh. “Right. So, look, I need exoskeletal joints. Something that can handle real torque, not limp around. And if you’ve got a thruster coil that’s not total scrap, I’m in the market.”
A hint of a twinkle lights Patch’s eyes. “What’s your budget?”
I glance around for eavesdroppers, then lower my voice. “I have a handful of contract chips. I can toss in some standard credits, but I can’t do a big official transaction, if you get my drift. Don’t want the Federation or local regulators sniffing around my project.”
Patch’s grin widens. “Keeping it hush-hush, eh? Sure. Gotta ask, though. Why bother with a toy-bot in a universe of giant war mechs? Hard to imagine your petite mech slugging it out with real steel hammers.”
A prickle of defiance makes me square my shoulders. “Size isn’t everything. Raw metal muscle might dominate in a straightforward slugfest, but I’m building something nimble with advanced AI integration. We’ll outmaneuver anything three times our weight class.”
He chortles. “Cocky. Also interesting. Suppose I can rummage up some exoskeletal joints. Though I gotta warn you, the thruster coil’s not in prime shape. Twenty, maybe twenty percent efficiency.”
Tabitha chimes in my ear. “David, if we rewire the induction matrix, we could raise that to maybe forty-five percent, which isn’t useless. Let’s not blow this chance.”
Patch watches me with careful amusement as if he knows I’m conferring with some hidden AI. “So, what’s it gonna be, kid? If you want top-of-the-line, I need top-of-the-line payment.”
I pull out the contract chips from my belt pouch. “Take these. They’re minted by a private contractor, so they won’t ping official logs.” I hesitate, rummaging for a small wad of credits. “And I’ll add some standard currency on top.”
He eyes the chips, lips pursed, then nods. “Deal. But if you do anything brilliant with these parts, I want first crack at bragging rights. Or, you know, cut me in next time you strike it rich.”
I can’t help a smirk. “We’ll see. Show me the coil.”
He motions me deeper into the yard, where half-scrapped mechs loom like metal skeletons left to bake in the Valis smog. We round a corner to a battered container. Patch rummages until he lifts a thruster coil, charred around the edges, with a spider crack near the nozzle. At first glance, it looks beyond saving. Still, Tabitha hums with intrigue in my ear. She’s already analyzing how to bypass the coil’s burnt circuits.
“Less than twenty percent,” Patch remarks slyly. “Fair warning.”
I hold it, testing the weight. “I’ve fixed worse.” Then, I notice the exoskeletal joints stacked behind him. They don’t look pristine, but they’re a step up from the microfractured mess I left behind. “All right, these’ll do. Let’s finalize the deal.”
Patch’s eyes gleam as he accepts my contract chips, scanning them with a grease-stained handheld device. “Transaction done. Don’t blow these up on your first test run, Wayne.”
I muster a grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We seal the deal with a handshake, though he tosses one more remark over his shoulder. “You keep building that toy-bot. If it doesn’t flop, I’ll be bragging I sold you your parts first.”
I’m about to respond when footsteps echo behind me. I spin, my heart jumping, but the figure that appears is a woman wearing tool-laden cargo pants, her braided hair pinned with miniature multicolor circuit clips. Her half-lidded, appraising stare flicks between me and the coil in my hands.
“You the one building the rumored short-range mech?” she asks. “Word around the salvage forums is that someone’s scrounging up advanced AI hardware for a smaller, lethal rig.”
Tabitha speaks softly. “Interesting. She’s done her homework.”
Patch shifts, crossing his arms. “Leona Alvarez. Or as we call her, Sparks. She’s a circuit board specialist. Why, you know him personally?”
Sparks steps closer, ignoring Patch’s question. “You must be David Wayne.” She glances at the thruster coil. “That thing’s basically a blackened husk. You plan on rewiring it yourself, or do you actually want help?”
Her directness makes me blink. “Hi to you, too.” Then I realize she’s analyzing me with the same skepticism I see all the time. “Look, I can rewire it fine. How do you know all this about me?”
She hooks her thumbs in her belt loops. “I pinned your workshop location through an encrypted salvage traders’ forum. Heard someone with big ideas was picking up servo motors on the sly, plus rummaging for AI integration parts. Last I checked, that’s not your usual backyard project.”
A flush creeps up my neck. So, people are talking. I swallow my pride. “I’m working on a smaller, advanced mech, ‘Raven One.’ My own design. The plan is to outmaneuver heavier mechs. I…well, I have the core framework, but I’m short on reliable circuits.”
Sparks cocks her head. “So it’s real. I half-expected to find some con artist. Suppose you overcame the meltdown risk on thruster output?”
I grit my teeth, remembering some of the headaches I’ve encountered. “We’re working on it.”
Tabitha chooses that moment to pipe up. “Tell her we’ve got a partial faction working on ballistic recoil dampeners, too. Maybe she wants to help.”
I lift my chin. “I can handle the meltdown risk, but yeah, we could use circuit expertise. Interested?”
Sparks nods as if verifying the challenge. “I might be, but let’s talk terms. I don’t work for free.”
I exchange a glance with Patch, who shrugs, stepping aside as if to let us hash it out. Sparks turns her full attention back to me. “I want one percent of any future payout from your mech’s big gigs.” She gestures at the coil. “If that’s too steep, good luck rewiring that junk on your own.”
My pulse thrums. I don’t want to hemorrhage potential profits, but I also need talented specialists. “One percent of future earnings. From missions, bounties, that kind of thing? Fine,” I reply at last. “But you’ll do more than rewire the coil. I need you to evaluate the entire circuit matrix I’m building. Might be risking meltdown otherwise.”
She smirks. “That’s the idea. So, we have a deal?”
My throat feels dry, but I offer my hand. “Deal.”
Her handshake is firm, calloused from hours of tinkering. “Lead the way, boss.” She says the last word with a half-sarcastic lilt like she’s not sure if I can run a real team.
Tabitha chuckles in my ear. “I like her. She’s direct.”
Patch raises an eyebrow at me. “Looks like you found yourself a circuit-savvy partner. Don’t blow up half my yard with your experiments.”
I roll my eyes. “Not planning on it. You done with me, or you got more jokes?”
He snorts, wiping his hands on his jumpsuit. “I’ll let you get out of here before I run your wallet completely dry.”
Sparks and I gather the questionable exoskeletal joints, two of them, plus the subpar thruster coil. Holding them all is awkward, so Sparks takes half while I shoulder the rest. My arms ache instantly. I guess this is the price of ambition. Literally.
“Want to eat before we haul this stuff back to your place?” Sparks asks, nodding toward a dingy corner near the fence where a small cart sells rehydrated noodles. “I’m starving, and you look about to pass out.”
My stomach growls in pathetic agreement. I blow out a sigh. “Sure. Probably should, or I’ll pass out from more than just exhaustion.”
She pays the vendor with a few dull coins, my contract chips apparently not accepted here, and passes me a sad, steaming bowl of rehydrated noodles. We find an overturned crate to sit on in a rusted corner of Patch’s yard, the overhead awning providing minimal shade from Valis’ smoggy sun.
Sparks slurps the noodles, crinkling her nose at the bland taste. “This is the best we can do?”
I poke the limp noodles with my chopsticks, forcing down a mouthful. “It’s fuel, at least. Barely.”
Tabitha chimes in with a giggle. “Hey, better than you passing out again. You’re building a war machine on a diet of coffee and cheap ramen.”
I manage not to laugh as I swallow the oversalted broth. Sparks eyes me. “You keep spacing out. You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah.” I cough, half-choking on a piece of rehydrated green onion or something. “I talk to myself sometimes. Helps me think.”
She shrugs. “Whatever floats your boat.” A grin quirks her lips. “Did you really test top-of-the-charts in some simulator? Heard rumors that a scrawny teen with insane numbers tried to get into the Wolverines and got turned away for being puny.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. “That would be me.” I set the noodles aside. “My sim scores were high. The old, uh, staff sergeant didn’t think I looked like a mech pilot.”
Sparks snorts. “Their loss.”
I shift uncomfortably, noticing how my arms look in the metal reflection next to us. Still on the lean side, but do I see a bit more definition near my biceps? It might be from all the heavy lifting lately. I can’t help a small, fleeting sense of satisfaction, but I clamp it down before Sparks catches on.
She waggles her chopsticks at me. “So, how’s this little build of yours going to punch with the big leagues if it’s small?”
I grin. “Because it won’t rely on brute strength. AI-driven reflexes, nimble thrusters, advanced ballistic damping. Basically, we’ll never be pinned down by bigger mechs. We can exploit every angle, every opening.”
She regards me with measured interest. “Bold plan, Wayne.” She gestures at my arms, half-mocking but not unkind. “And, hey, if your arms can’t handle the recoil in a cockpit, your mech will do the punching for you, right?”
I snicker. “That’s the gist. My arms are fine, anyway.”
For a heartbeat, there’s a charged pause. She’s clearly evaluating whether I’m all talk. I straighten my spine, letting stubborn confidence bleed through. “You’ll see for yourself. If you’re on board, we’ll have this mech optimized in no time.”
She nods, setting aside her empty bowl. “One percent. Let’s see if that ends up being a gold mine or a worthless slip of data.”
We wrap up lunch, deposit the noodle bowls into a nearby trash pile, and gather our newly bought salvage. Hauling it through Patch’s yard taxes my arms, no matter how much I might pretend otherwise. Sparks teases me half the way. “Sure that coil’s not crushing your spine, genius?”
Tabitha’s laughter resonates in my ear. “Maybe next time I can pilot you, David. I’ll handle your limbs, too.”
I cough, ignoring them both, forging onward. It’s not a long walk, but it’s enough to get me sweating under my threadbare shirt. Sparks doesn’t seem to mind, pulling ahead with her portion of the load.
When the hangar finally comes into view, a wave of relief so strong it nearly buckles my knees washes over me. I punch in my code, the door creaking open to reveal the dim interior. Raven One’s scaffolding of a frame still stands in the center, a half-finished testament to my ambition. I catch myself smiling at it, imagining the day it’ll move under its own power, thrusters blazing.
We haul our goodies in carefully, dumping them near the makeshift workbench. Sparks releases a low whistle as she skims the servo motors in varied states of disassembly, half-finished ballistic dampeners, and reams of incomplete thruster diagrams pinned to a corkboard. “Impressive.” She folds her arms. “Messy, but I’ve seen worse labs.”
Before I can respond, Tabitha’s voice flares loudly in my ear. “Do you think David’s planning to build the rest of Raven One using duct tape and blind optimism?”
I clutch my visor, half-expecting Sparks to overhear. But she only sees me cringe and asks, “What?”
I cough. “Uh, just thinking out loud again.”
Tabitha’s tone quiets but turns mischievous. “Hey, if anyone sneers at your ‘toy-bot’ again, I’ll figure out how to weld their lips shut. Especially if it’s a girl.”
I stifle a strangled sound. “Tabitha! Enough.”
“Who’s Tabitha?” Sparks demands with a raised eyebrow.
I blow air through my teeth, rummaging for a plausible answer. “She’s, uh…a personal AI subroutine I wrote for advanced analytics. She chimes in sometimes.”
Sparks smirks. “Makes sense you’d have a custom AI. Hardly surprising, with the rumors about you messing with complex code.”
I rub the back of my neck. “She’s also got a big mouth. Sorry.”
“Okay, that’s new.” Sparks chuckles. “Most AIs I’ve interfaced with only beep or display text. Yours chatters your ear off?”
“You have no idea,” I murmur, then pivot to the used coil. “Anyway, let’s get started. We can’t keep scrounging for scraps forever if we don’t get this thruster online. Also, if we keep making too much noise, we risk?—”
“Drawing attention from local regulators or the Federation,” Sparks finishes for me. “Or unscrupulous brokers who realize you’re more than a kid hammering parts.”
I swallow. “Exactly.” Then I frown, remembering Tabitha’s earlier words. “And we should also try not to get kicked out of every salvage yard in Valis while we’re at it.”
Sparks shrugs. “As long as you keep me paid, I don’t mind a little hush-hush life.”
They always say that, I think. But I keep the cynicism to myself. “All right. Let’s do a quick mod check on that coil. Patch claims sub-twenty percent efficiency. We can definitely push it. Tabitha’s got some ideas for the induction matrix rewire.”
Sparks slides her pack off her shoulders and retrieves a set of precision screwdrivers. “Let’s see this ‘girlfriend AI’ in action, then.”
A flush covers my neck again, but I clamp my mouth shut. At least she’s not backing away. Quietly, I watch her work, impressed by her efficiency. Tools flick in and out of her hands like an extension of her mind. Meanwhile, I keep an ear out for any more wisecracks from Tabitha.
I’m exhausted, but seeing a skilled circuit board specialist attack the problems I’ve been wrestling with half the night feels like hope. My arms might still be scrawny compared to a soldier’s, but I feel a spark of confidence. I actually have a shot at making Raven One a reality, bridging the gap between my dreams and all the swaggering cynics who said I’d never pilot a real mech.
Tabitha purrs in my ear, her tone turning oddly affectionate. “One step closer, David. Now, let’s see if you can keep from blowing yourself up.”
I release a weary laugh. “No promises. But if we do, at least we’ll do it with style, right?”
Sparks glances up from the coil, raising an eyebrow at the random comment, but she doesn’t pry. “You say something?”
I manage a crooked grin. “Thinking out loud. Again.”
She shakes her head, exhaling softly. “You’re weird. But I think I can get used to that, boss.”
With that, the three of us—an undersized pilot, a sardonic AI, and a newly enlisted circuit wizard—officially begin the next chapter of forging Raven One from battered salvage and blind optimism. I inhale, letting the stale hangar air fill my lungs. My frustration from earlier lingers, but it’s capped by determined focus.
Bring on the microfractures and missing circuits, I think fiercely. We’ve got this.
I can almost hear Tabitha smiling in my mind. “That’s my genius,” she murmurs. “Time to make it happen.”